


Fever

by Bronte



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: All I do is sin, F/M, Fever, Freeform, Fuck Or Die, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Romance, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, forgive me father but i have sinned (over and over again)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 15:09:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17409173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bronte/pseuds/Bronte
Summary: She’s lost count of the white messes, the hot flashes, the loss of conscious control as the fever continues to course through their veins. She can’t tell what’s up or down, left or right, day or night when he’s around. It’s just her and him, together and always, together against the world, against their enemies, against this.And now against fire escapes too, apparently.





	Fever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lalunaoscura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalunaoscura/gifts).



> Happy birthday lalunaoscura! This one is for you!
> 
> Enjoy sinners!

_ this storm brings strange loyalties   
_ _ i’m clinging to the atoms _

He’s flipped her over, her body on his, and she can hardly feel her limbs. She know they’re there with the way the pressure’s building between them and he pins her to the wall like he’s done a thousand times over, clenching fingers and the hot press of lips on skin, heavy in his arms. Her body’s throbbing...it’s been days? Weeks? She can’t make heads or tails of anything; it won’t let her sleep, it won’t leave her alone. It makes him snatch at her waist and drag her onto the nearest flat surface, the grass, the walls, the wrought iron railings that line the balconies late when the moon in high and Paris is sleeping, entirely impervious to the spell they’re under, lost in the throes of a passion they cannot control...

She’s lost count of the white messes, the hot flashes, the loss of conscious control as the fever continues to course through their veins; her mind’s a muddle of chaos and heat, heat and chaos,  _ heat heat heat _ . She can’t tell what’s up or down, left or right, day or night when he’s around. It’s just her and him, together and always, together against the world, against their enemies, against  _ this. _

And now against fire escapes too, apparently.

It’s a different sensation altogether, ribbed and jarring, surprising them both in a fit of pleasure and pain and absolute indulgence because it’s nothing like they’ve ever felt before. They’re barely adults but the fever doesn’t discriminate, doesn’t care since they’ve been fused to their Miraculous for so long. It’s the ides of Spring, the climax, the peak of their heat that overwhelms common sense with the need to make love to each other and over again. Exhausted, she throws her head back and moans his name like a prayer, grasping onto the fire escape for dear life as his fingers hit the epicentre inside her that keeps her coming and coming and coming...

He groans into her neck as his body shudders, the sticky spray of come spurting all over her stomach and thighs. His breath is ragged, mingled with hers, his muscles still spasming from a combination of his orgasm and the foreign chemicals wrecking havoc with their systems like a flu. 

_ “Ladybug…” _

Still reeling from her own climax, all she can do is gasp for oxygen in his embrace, her toes suffering from the lack of circulation at being wrapped around his waist for so long. She fights off the dizzying sensation, the one that begs for  _ moremoremore _ as he slips his fingers back inside her and continues to pound her into the wrought iron lattice six stories above the brick walkway, mercilessly, breathlessly. Her eyes are screwed up in aching satisfaction, her lips parted, swollen and parched from their heavy breathing as he leans in for a kiss once more.

He hauls her farther up his body and rests her on the nearest railing, her sight swimming with a Technicolor rainbow of sights and sounds and smells and tastes of  _ him. _ He’s sweet and salty, rough and tender and it’s the only way she knows that her Chat is still in there somewhere, his compassion not entirely lost in the throes of their fever. He’s been nothing but good to her all these years and this is no exception, her head lolling backwards when his tongue enters the fray. 

They’d felt the heat of the storm inside them brewing for months now knowing the eye of the hurricane would crash into them with the force of a thousand kilometre wind. The waves were rising and the rain was falling in constant droves; their scorching lives were flooding.

Her breath reverberates in her lungs as he hits just the perfect spot between her thighs, pulling out after a moment when she’s just on the verge. Two sweltering hands hold her in place, their blistering weight pressing fiercely against the acquiescent flesh between them, keeping her so close to the edge she can hardly stand it, just barely holding on. The chemicals fog her brain, her body reacting on its own accord, begging for contact, begging for pleasure, begging for it all to keep going, to just stop already, to never end.

He smiles wickedly and it’s so out of place on his flushed skin, his eyes a striking green behind the flimsy fabric mask that keeps their identities hidden, saving them from the painful reality of knowing the name behind the façade. How could she not wonder? How could she not deny herself the need to rip it off just to see who it is, to see the man she’s fallen for, fully and completely. Mewling as he takes the sensitive cartilage of her ear into his eager mouth, she wonder what it would be like to see him completely bare, completely raw, completely hers?

He nibbles his way down the line of her jaw, running his incisors along the taut flesh of her flushed breasts, earnestly anticipating the way she always cries out when he toes the line between heaven and hell, sharp and soft, pleasure and pain. Her entire body tremors with the contradiction, the delicious contrast, that sweet cognac release, a fever pitch all through the starry, starry night.

She thinks she’s overloading.

He’s hard again and she’s hardly holding on as he thrusts his cock inside her, her whimpers smothered by the heat of his kiss. They’re bodies are slick against each other, the beads of sweat shining in the ambient light of the alleyway, catching in the hollows of her collarbones. He’s all over the place, pressing kisses and bruises into her skin in a patternless order that speaks to just the two of them and it drives her high even higher. Glazed over with excess insanity, her foggy blue eyes meet with his and she’s so close she can taste it, taste herself on his tongue. It drives her even closer to the precipice, a tiptoe away, and she begs him to throw her off and catch her at the bottom.  

Chat obliges fervently, the compounds flooding through his bloodstream certainly to blame. He wants to claim her as his own, masks be damned, and he drags his deceptively sharp teeth against the soft contours of her neck, leaving behind a faint red line against her already flushed skin. They’re entirely lost in each other and if he could have distinguished anything between his haze of lust and madness, he would have been the better man for it, but he can’t, too distracted by Ladybug’s raucous moans and the sweet nothing escaping her parched lips.

“Harder,  _ please…” _

And he does because he always does, anything and everything for her, losing himself to the growing sensation bursting inside of him, tantric and cathartic, blinding and breathtaking. He watches those sensations overtake her completely and he’s flooded, his heightened senses entirely overwhelmed like a douse of warm water, like a dose of something explicitly  _ her. _

They’re not sure how much time has passed, a heavy wicked thing, but the air still smells of them when Chat’s eyes meet with hers, lidded from exertion. She’s putty in his grasp and he’s at her beck and call eternally, using his body as a shield against the metal digging into her skin. It’s not ideal but it’s  _ them _ ; it’s that bone deep feeling in their limbs that makes them just want to hold each other together with one hand and hold the world at bay with the other.

This storm brings strange loyalties, but some things would never change.

**Author's Note:**

> I had fun experimenting with a different style for this. A lot of freeform, a lot of punctuation, and a lot of time dying over it because dialogue is my jam and this is not. Nevertheless, it was a nice little break away from Safeword. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Leave a comment if you enjoyed!


End file.
